


TMBMITW

by stjarna



Series: Engineering vs Biochem - 2017 (Team Engineering) [15]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: A little bit of squeamish stuff, AU, But bad luck turns out to be not so bad in the end, Crack, F/M, Falling in love with the girl from upstairs AU, Falling in love with the guy from downstairs AU, Fluff, Lots of bad luck, Pi's Ficathon, Roommate interference, happy end
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-04
Updated: 2017-09-04
Packaged: 2018-12-23 23:16:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,659
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11999994
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stjarna/pseuds/stjarna
Summary: aka The Most Beautiful Man In The World meets the Most Gorgeous Woman Alive, and somehow she manages to always be a complete disaster whenever she sees him.I picked up this "loser" fromPi's Ficathon. Apparentlythiswas the original prompt. I kept most of the dialogue and some of the prose from the part of the fic that Pi had already drafted (approximately the first two and a half scenes), but expanded both scenes and switched some characters around, and obviously added some additional scenes.Last scene maybe a mild T-rating.





	TMBMITW

**Author's Note:**

  * For [memorizingthedigitsofpi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/memorizingthedigitsofpi/gifts).



> Big thank you to @dilkirani for the beta.
> 
> Banner by me.

 

Daisy sat up on the edge of the sofa cushion when she heard her roommate’s key in the lock. Next to her, Trip groaned in mild protest as the warmth of his girlfriend’s body left his embrace.

As soon as the door opened, Daisy asked, “Did you see him?”

Jemma sighed as she walked into her living room, dropping her briefcase right on the floor without really caring where it landed.

“Look at my face,” she said, brushing her hair aside to reveal a black eye. “Of course I saw him.”

“Geez, woman, you need me to look at that?” Trip asked, getting halfway out of his seat before Jemma waved him off.

“’S fine, Trip. Don’t worry.”

The “ _Him”_ Daisy had referred to was The Most Beautiful Man In The World, and he’d been living in their building for two months now, two stories down.

And every single time he saw Jemma, she looked ridiculous. The first time, a rather unfortunate lab accident had left one of her eyebrows partially singed and her arm bandaged from wrist to elbow. The second time, she’d been drenched from head to toe when her brand new umbrella had shown a clear lack of wind-resistance during a particularly heavy downpour. The third time, a rather rude bus driver had approached the bus stop so fast and with such proximity to the curb that he’d hit the dirty puddle where she’d been standing with such force that she looked like she’d come fresh from a mud wrestling competition. The next time… Ugh, Jemma’d rather not think about it.

“Did he notice it?” Daisy asked, an overly optimistic grin on her face and seemingly not really worried about how her best friend had obtained her injury… this time.

At Jemma’s incredulous look and Trip’s audible scoff, she shrugged defensively. “What? Maybe he was too busy checking out your rack.”

Jemma whimpered and let her jacket fall open where she’d been holding it shut. Her cream-coloured blouse was covered in coffee.

“Seriously?” Daisy asked, now wearing an incredulous look of her own, while Trip exclaimed “Damn!” with an expression of utter disbelief.

Jemma nodded miserably. “I tripped on my way into the elevator and spilled it all over myself. He was the one holding the door.”

“Wow,” Daisy breathed. “You really are just a disaster around him, aren’t you?”

“Ugh,” Jemma groaned, kicking her shoes off before dragging her feet across the floor towards the couch, her lower lip pushed forward into a sad pout. “I’m a highly intelligent and capable woman. A successful biochemist with two Ph.D.s and a higher-than-normal fashion sense… and here I am, making an utter fool out of myself in front of him. Every. Single. Time.”

Daisy scooted to the side, allowing Jemma to drop down exhaustedly between her and Trip. Jemma let herself fall to the side and Daisy wrapped one arm around her friend’s shoulders, pulling her into a comforting hug.

Trip slapped his thighs with both hands, pushing himself up to standing. “Gonna grab some beers and the takeout menus. What’s it gonna be tonight? Pizza or Chinese?”

“Whatever it is, make sure they have ice cream,” Jemma mumbled quietly and both Daisy’s and Trip’s eyes opened in mild shock.

“That bad, eh?” Daisy asked, rubbing Jemma’s arm up and down.

Jemma merely nodded into her friend’s shoulder, another frustrated groan escaping the back of her throat.

* * *

 

Hunter looked up as Fitz entered their apartment with a goofy grin on his face.

“You saw her again, didn’t you?” he asked, raising his eyebrows and smirking knowingly at his roommate.

“Mmmm,” Fitz sighed wistfully. “She spilled her coffee down her front.”

Hunter chuckled and shook his head. “You’ve got it bad, mate.”

Fitz collapsed onto the sofa and stared at the ceiling with a vague smile.

“She had a black eye, too. Wonder how she got it,” he pondered, torn between concern for her safety and the secret desire for her to be a ninja assassin or a world class ping pong player or some other terrifyingly cool thing like that.

“Just remember, mate,” Hunter remarked, letting go of the video game controller in his hands for a moment to gesture in Fitz’s direction. “It’s all fun and games until they turn from The Most Gorgeous Woman Alive into an actual hellbeast. I mean, you remember Bobbi—”

But Fitz was too busy daydreaming about his latest encounter with his upstairs neighbor to listen to Hunter once again complain about his ex-wife. He absentmindedly mumbled “Sure,” when his ears picked up something about “How ‘bout pizza?” and otherwise thought back to her hazel eyes, and her wavy hair, and her blinding smile. Two months they’d been living in the same building now, and he’d still not managed to say more than “Which floor?” to her.

 _One day_ , he thought. _One day soon._

* * *

 

Jemma waited until almost 2am to take out the garbage and recycling. She knew she was being paranoid, but she’d had enough unfortunate run-ins with The Most Beautiful Man In The World and wanted to avoid any more if she possibly could.

Wearing her _Talk Nerdy To Me_ t-shirt and a pair of jogging shorts, she pulled her hair up into a messy bun and slipped on some flip flops. Then she grabbed the bag of garbage in one hand and the blue bag full of cans and bottles in the other and crept down the hallway to the elevator as quietly as she could so as not to disturb the other people in the building.

She made it almost all of the way to the dumpster before the garbage bag broke, spilling god knew what all over her mostly-bare feet.

Since it was 2am and she was outside and alone, Jemma let out a curse word that reverberated and echoed its way to the very back corners of the car park where the garbage tip was located.

“Ehm.”

Her head shot in the direction of the quiet noise and then her eyes widened.

Maybe it was exhaustion. Maybe it was one straw too many. Maybe it was the mix of too much ice cream, three beers, and mediocre sesame chicken. Maybe it was a mild concussion from Mack’s elbow accidentally hitting her earlier that day.

But Jemma couldn’t help herself. Her head dropped back, and she screamed towards the heavens. “Are you bloody kidding me?”

Once she’d gotten some of her disbelief and anger over the cruel sense of humor the cosmos seemed to have out of her system, she slowly turned to look back at him. Somehow it felt like all noise had been sucked out of the universe and space had been frozen and Jemma couldn’t speak or move (even though something disgusting, wet, cold, and clingy was currently sticking to her left calf, and she prayed it wasn’t one of the used condoms she’d seen in the bag before she’d tied it up. She’d have to talk to Daisy about proper condom disposal!).

At least her state of stasis gave her opportunity to take him fully in.

He looked a bit sheepish. Adorable. Sexy. Beautiful. But, yes, a bit sheepish, standing at the bottom of the steps to the backdoor to their building, dressed in dark sweatpants and a grey shirt with some sort of writing on it that was half covered by a simple black hoodie, his shoelaces untied. He stared at her wide-eyed with a garbage bag of his own in one hand and two large pizza boxes tucked under his other arm while six empty beer bottles in their card box carrier dangled from his fingers.

“Do you… do you need help?” he suddenly stammered, and Jemma’s heart skipped a surprised beat when she noticed his Scottish accent. Not only was he The Most Beautiful Man in the World, he was also British.

How had she not noticed before? Oh, right, these were already more words than they’d ever exchanged before. Silently, Jemma cursed herself for her incredibly bad luck.

Unfortunately, her wandering mind had caused her to neglect to reply to his question and Jemma drew in a panicked breath when he suddenly bent down to put his garbage on the ground before straightening up and walking towards her with one hand extended in her direction.

“Bloody idiot I am,” he muttered under his breath. “Your garbage just exploded and you’re practically barefoot. ‘Course you need help.”

He stopped short of her and bent down, starting to pick up some empty Chinese take-out cartons.

Jemma stared down at him, noticing in horror the stubble on her calves. She’d only shaved two days ago and yet she could swear it had grown by five millimeters within the last ten seconds. Suddenly, it was as if life and her voice had been breathed back into Jemma.

“Nonononono,” she exclaimed, trying to gesture and get his attention without smacking him in the head with the bag she was still holding onto, containing the cans and bottles, which clinked and clanked loudly in the empty car park. “You don’t have to.”

But he seemed too focused on the task at hand to notice her, so she bent down to gently tap his shoulder.

* * *

Fitz stared at his hands, and something clicked. He suddenly realized that he’d just picked up trash with his bare hands.

His. Bare. Hands.

His stomach twisted uncomfortably, as he felt the sticky smear of what smelled like the remains of sesame chicken sauce on his palms. Admittedly, it was trash the Most Gorgeous Woman Alive had dropped right at her feet; her beautiful, naked feet, attached to her perfectly shaped calves, which he tried very hard not to stare at (and that he hoped she didn’t realize had a used condom stuck to them… which Fitz secretly hoped belonged to her roommate rather than to her).

Yes, admittedly, it was her trash, but trash nonetheless.

There was still some room in his own garbage bag. Maybe he should get it so he’d actually have something to put the rubbish into. Or maybe he should run to his apartment and grab gloves and some extra bags.

Fitz straightened up. Or he tried to until his upward movement was suddenly halted as his head collided with something hard.

“Bloody hell,” he exclaimed, pressing his palm against the top of his aching skull.

His eyes widened in shock when he a) realized that said palm had held on to garbage a split second earlier before he’d let go of it reflexively and b) heard the sound of bottles and cans spilling out of a dropped recycling bag and a muffled female voice moaning in pain.

Fitz slowly stood up, staring horrified at the woman in front of him, who pressed both hands over her nose, her eyes opening and closing, noticeably disoriented.

“Oh God!” Fitz took a step closer, raising his hands but unsure of what to do with them. “Oh God, oh God, oh God, I’m so sorry. I’m so, so sorry.”

The Most Gorgeous Woman Alive kept blinking at him, her eyes, her beautiful brown eyes with lashes so long it should be illegal, seemingly both confused and pleading.

_Pleading. Of course. Bloody hell, Fitz. Help her, you inconsiderate wanker!_

“Okay. Okay,” he muttered, reaching forward in an attempt to remove her hands from her nose to take a look at it. But then he noticed the blood seeping through her fingers and the Chinese take-out food remains clinging to his, and the blood made him slightly nauseous and his dirty hands reminded him that touching her right now would probably not be good for various reasons.

He cringed, retracting his hands and opening and closing his fists to pull himself together.

“Okay,” he started over, wiping his hands off on his sweatpants in desperation. “Could you… could you let your hands down for just a second, so I can take a look?”

There was a muffled sound that Fitz couldn’t quite interpret and then she slowly lowered her hands and Fitz felt the taste of acid at the back of his throat.

“Oh, bollocks,” he whispered quietly.

_Don’t throw up. Whatever you do, don’t throw up._

* * *

Jemma stared at her hands, the stars she’d been seeing now shimmering in front of a curtain of red, which she quickly realized was the blood gushing from her nose and now clinging to her palms.

“Ugh,” she muttered, squinting a few more times, before hesitantly looking up straight into the blue, oh so blue, amazingly blue and piercing and concerned blue eyes of the Most Beautiful Man in the World.

“Mm—Maybe you should put the hands back,” he suggested, a bit pale around the nose and holding his hands up cautiously.

Jemma nodded silently, pressing her fingers back against her nose, still feeling a seemingly endless stream of blood and a numb pain radiating into her forehead. Once again, she’d lost her capacity to speak in front of him. At least he didn’t seem to fare much better.

He drew in a slow breath through his teeth, his brows furrowed in thought.

“God, I’m so sorry,” he mumbled with his teeth still gritted.

His hands balled into fists as if he were desperately trying to fight the urge to run. Jemma couldn’t really blame him. It was very understandable indeed. She very much wished herself to disappear into thin air.

Suddenly, he surged forward, exclaiming “Bloody hell!,” and before Jemma knew what was happening, he threaded one arm between her arm and torso, wrapping it around her back while the other arm curled around the back of her knees.

Jemma shrieked in surprise when he picked her up, one of her hands letting go of her nose to instinctively wrap around the back of his neck to find balance. She tried to bend the hand as far back as possible so as not to get blood all over his neck.

She still wasn’t quite sure what was going on, but she did notice him turning around and taking a step towards the backdoor of their building.

“Nonononono,” Jemma tried to interject, not sure if her muffled voice was even intelligible. She briefly removed her remaining hand from her nose, to improve her chances. “What are you doing?”

* * *

Fitz briefly lifted the Most Gorgeous Woman Alive a little higher in his arms to get a better grip on her, noticing in relief that the used condom that had clung to her calf dropped to the ground. He tried to ignore the fact that of all the dreams he’d had about carrying her in his arms, this had been none of the scenarios he’d imagined. He took a few more steps towards the door, wishing for the first time ever that he hadn’t outright rejected Hunter’s suggestion to join a gym, when he heard her question.

“Getting you inside. Or to a doctor. Or—” He really wished his voice didn’t sound quite so strained right about now.

“You don’t have to. The garbage is still all over the ground,” the Most Gorgeous Woman Alive interrupted him, but the blood still seeping between her fingers wasn’t helping her argument.

“Forget about the bloody rubbish.” Fitz stopped in front of the backdoor, pondering for a moment how best to open it without dropping the woman in his arms.

He decided to shift focus briefly until he could figure it out. He turned his head to look at her. “I may have broken your nose. I’m taking you to a doctor!”

Her eyes became a little softer and her voice was a bit quieter, almost apologetic, when she spoke up again, one hand still raised in front of her nose. “I’m bleeding all over you. I don’t think it’s broken. Just put me down.”

Fitz shook his head. “At the very least, let me take a closer look at it inside where there’s light?”

She nodded ever so slightly, and so Fitz turned sideways until he could reach the doorknob. Somehow he managed to turn it and pull the door open far enough to get his foot in the gap. Then he pushed it all the way open with his knee and somehow maneuvered both of them into the hallway.

Waiting for the world’s slowest lift seemed like a terrible idea in the current situation, so Fitz clenched his jaw, readjusted the woman in his arms and carried her up to the third floor.

When he got to the door of his flat, wishing he didn’t sound quite so out of breath, he was faced with a new problem. His keys were tucked deep into his front pocket. He flashed a weak smile at the woman in his arms, whose eyes were darting back and forth between the closed door and him, before he lifted his right leg to bang against the door with his foot.

“Hunter,” he called out repeatedly, knocking a few more times against the door. “Open up, you bloody wanker!”

“Shut up! It’s 2am!” a muffled voice shouted from behind his neighbor’s door across the hallway.

“Ugh.” Fitz dropped his head back slightly, before fixating once again on the door. “Hunter,” he yelled one more time, even more loudly than before, giving the door one last forceful kick.

He sighed in relief when he finally heard someone drag his feet down the hallway of their flat.

“Told you to grab your keys, mate,” Hunter’s voice could be heard, strangely slurred, before the door flung open.

Hunter stared first at Fitz and then at the woman in his arms. His mouth was half-ajar, and a mix of saliva and toothpaste was beginning to drool out at one corner. Slowly, he pulled the toothbrush out of his mouth, gesturing with it at the Most Gorgeous Woman Alive. “What on—?”

Fitz pushed past his roommate and hurried into the living room. “I probably broke her nose,” he explained hastily, ignoring the woman’s protest of “I don’t think you did.”

He laid her down on the couch, before crouching down next to her. Once again he raised his hands without knowing what to do.

“How’d you break her nose at 2am?” Hunter asked in absolute confusion, gesturing at the Most Gorgeous Woman Alive. “And _why_ did you break her—?”

Fitz’s head shot around and he stared at his roommate in disbelief. “I didn’t do it on purpose, you bloody idjit. G-get some ice. Do something useful. Get a towel. Call an ambulance.”

“Ambu—? There’s really no need to—” the woman on the couch, pressing her hands over her bleeding nose, tried to interject.

Hunter’s toothbrush waved annoyingly in Fitz’s direction. “You broke her nose, but I’m supposed to—?”

“Hunter!” Fitz barked out at the same time the Most Gorgeous Woman Alive quietly piped up, “I really don’t think it’s broken.”

“Alright.” Hunter raised his hands in defeat before heading for the kitchen. “Getting ice and a towel.”

Fitz sighed deeply, turning back to look at the bleeding woman on his couch.

_What on earth happened? And why? Why oh why?_

He shed his hoodie off his shoulders, suddenly feeling very warm. Whether it was from carrying her all the way to his flat without any real muscle strength or just the general unexpected excitement of the evening, he couldn’t quite tell. He ran his fingers through his hair and suddenly remembered that he’d picked up trash with his bare hands and had yet to wash them. He swallowed the acid creeping into his mouth as he slowly balled his hands into fists and rested them on his thighs, which were starting to shake from being crouched down next to the couch rather awkwardly. He made a mental note to shave his head or at least use insane amounts of shampoo as soon as possible, when Hunter rushed back into the room with a bowl of water mixed with ice cubes and a clean dish towel.

“It’s one of the new ones. Figured it’d be more sanitary and all that,” Hunter declared as he tried to hand Fitz the towel, who however gestured to give it straight to the bleeding woman.

* * *

Hesitantly, Jemma removed one of her hands from her nose to accept the white dish towel from the scruffy Englishman with the distinct Londoner accent, who smiled at her awkwardly in his tweed pajama bottoms and a t-shirt of questionable cleanliness sporting several holes.

She dipped the towel into the bowl the Most Beautiful Man in the World had taken from his roommate and watched as the clear water immediately turned slightly pink. Carefully, she squeezed the wet cloth before bringing it up to her nose, drawing in a sharp breath as she tried to wipe away some of the blood clinging to her nose. She could still feel the constant trickle of more blood rushing down her nostrils.

Both men looked at her full of concern and pity as Jemma continued to clean and cool her aching nose. Jemma’s eyes wandered from his blue, oh so very blue and beautiful eyes to the t-shirt the Most Beautiful Man in the World was wearing and which she hadn’t been able to get a good glimpse of until he’d shed his hoodie.

 _I’m an ~~engeneer~~ , ~~enginere~~ , ~~engenere~~. I’m good with math_ , she read. She couldn’t help but get a little excited that her bad luck at least meant she now (presumably) knew his profession.

“I’d really feel a lot better if you’d let me take you to the ER,” the Most Beautiful Man in the World remarked, one corner of his mouth ticked up into a pleading half-smile.

Jemma pondered for a second whether she should give into the temptation of letting him take her. On the one hand, spending a few hours with him in an ER waiting room on a Friday night might finally give her a chance to initiate a real conversation. One the other hand, it would really be an entirely unnecessary trip, considering that—

“Mate, I think she’s right. I don’t think it’s broken,” his roommate chimed in and Jemma hoped they didn’t notice her eyebrows furrowing briefly in discontent over his interjection.

“Mind showing me your MD certificate, Hunter,” the Most Beautiful Man in the World growled through his teeth before Jemma could say anything. Jemma couldn’t stop an amused smile from flashing across her face.

“Well, I’m no doctor, but I’ve had my share of broken noses,” his roommate replied wide-eyed but matter-of-factly.

“Well, I’m glad you think that particular kind of expertise is finally coming in handy.”

Jemma let out a deep sigh. While the bickering between the two men was strangely charming, it didn’t really seem to move things along in any way, shape, or form.

“If you insist on getting a professional medical opinion—” she started, waiting until both men were focused on her. “—my roommate’s boyfriend is an EMT and he’s currently in our flat—presumably asleep. I’m sure he’d gladly take a look. Well, maybe not glady, but… he would.”

The Most Beautiful Man in the World turned around, fixing his eyes on his roommate, who slumped his shoulders before mumbling a defeated “Alright. Five-oh—?”

“Four,” Jemma clarified. “Five-oh-four.”

The roommate— _Hunter was it?_ —spun on his heels, before turning back. “And their names would be?”

“Daisy. Daisy is my roommate and her boyfriend is Trip.”

“Daisy. Trip,” Hunter muttered under his breath to commit the names to memory.

He took a few steps towards the door, grabbing a key from a chest of drawers, before once again spinning back. “And your name is—?”

“Jemma.”

“Daisy. Trip. Jemma. Daisy. Trip. Jemma. Daisy. Trip. Jem—” Hunter repeated until the door closed behind him.

The Most Beautiful Man in the World looked back at her, a mysterious smile glistening in his eyes, as he drew in a slow breath. “Daisy, Trip, and… Jemma.”

Jemma couldn’t help but smile as well. “Precisely. And Hunter and—?”

* * *

Fitz gazed at her with his lips slightly parted, unable to think about anything but the fact that he finally knew her name, when he suddenly realized that there was a question hidden in her softly spoken words.

“Umm. Fitz,” he stammered, before correcting himself. “Leo. Leopold. I mean Fitz. I mean Leo… Leopold Fitz. I mean Fitz.”

There was a loud voice screaming and cursing at him in the back of his mind for his inability to put together coherent sentences in front of her, but then he noticed her lips pulling into a smile, behind the formerly-white towel she was pressing against her nose, and the screaming in his head was drowned out by the loud thumping of his heart instead.

“Fitz then?” she asked quietly and somehow Fitz managed to at least nod.

“And you’re good with math?” she added, her eyes sparkling curiously.

Fitz furrowed his brows in confusion. She lifted her chin slightly in the direction of his torso causing Fitz to look down on himself and notice the t-shirt he’d thrown on when he’d come home from work. He looked back up, unable to hide a shy grin, and somehow convinced his brain to throw caution to the wind for a second.

“Yeah,” he nodded. “Might even be able to talk nerdy to you.”

The Most Gorgeous Woman Alive—Jemma, he knew her name now—Jemma laughed out loud, which Fitz thought might just be the most beautiful sound he’d ever heard.

She shrugged ever so slightly. “Well maybe—”

The door to the apartment swung open and Fitz’s head shot in that direction. He pressed his lips into a thin line to stop from cursing. Luck just wasn’t on his side apparently.

A young woman with shoulder length dark hair stormed past Hunter and into the living room. Fitz recognized her from a few passing encounters by the mailboxes. Daisy—he assumed—stopped right behind Fitz placing both hands onto her hips.

“Holy shit,” she exclaimed, strangely enough grinning widely rather than showing concern for her roommate’s medical emergency.

“Could you not be quite so giddy?” Jemma piped up next to him, pleading with her roommate, who raised her hands apologetically.

“Sorry, Jemma, but—”

“Alright, everyone move and let me take a look,” a male voice announced and Fitz looked past Daisy to see a tall, handsome man carrying a medical bag of sorts, rushing towards the couch, waving his hand left and right.

Fitz stumbled to stand up to let Trip—he assumed—pass.

“Girl, what did you do this time?” Trip shook his head, one corner of his mouth ticked up.

“I was taking the garbage out—” Jemma started, but Fitz felt like he should really take full responsibility.

“It was me. I… I was picking something off the ground and got up and my head hit her nose and I’m so, so sorry. So sorry.”

Fitz nervously rubbed the back of his neck, trying to ignore the sticky feeling of sesame chicken being transferred from his palm to his neck, and not quite believing that Jemma actually smiled back at him.

“We got her ice and the towel,” Hunter chimed in, taking a few steps closer and trying to get a few words of praise for his help.

“Alright, let me—” Trip started, when his girlfriend piped up.

“I cannot believe you broke my best friend’s—”

Fitz gestured at himself in panic. “I didn’t mean to. I just tried to—”

“It was an accident, Daisy,” Jemma called out almost at the exact same moment.

“Hey, yeah, back off my mate here,” Hunter shouted, defensively, wrapping his arm around Fitz, who tried to push his hand back off his shoulder. “If it weren’t for your stubborn roommate, he’d already have taken her to the—”

“Alright!” Trip suddenly shouted quite loudly, causing everyone to immediately fall silent. “Everybody who’s currently not bleeding or isn’t me, shut your mouth holes, and move to another room, so I can actually take a look at the patient.”

“Yeah, of course. Sorry.” Fitz nodded, forcing himself to take his eyes off Jemma.

“What about her?” Hunter asked, gesturing at Daisy, as Fitz tried to pull him towards the kitchen.

Daisy placed both hands on her hips and held Hunter’s stare. “The red army arrived just this morning, so technically… I’m bleeding.”

Hunter backed away without another word, closing the kitchen door behind himself.

Fitz dropped down at the kitchen table, burying his head in his hands. “How is this happening?” he muttered into his palms, before suddenly lifting his head and staring in disgust at the last remains of sticky Chinese food.

He felt a firm slap on his back. “Sorry, mate. At least you know her name now.”

* * *

“Alright, now let me see that nose of yours,” Trip said, lifting his chin in Jemma’s direction, who slowly lowered the bloody towel. “Did you hear anything break?”

“Just whatever remained of my dignity,” Jemma mumbled quietly, slumping her shoulders.

“Awww, girl, come on!” Trip tried to cheer her up with one of his beaming smiles, as he zipped open his medical bag and pulled out some latex gloves and gauze.

“Dude!” Daisy stared at Jemma wide-eyed, keeping her voice unusually low. “Do you have any idea how lucky you are?”

“Lucky?” Jemma exclaimed, before she drew in a sharp breath when Trip started wiping away some of the blood from her nose. She grimaced, waiting for Trip to give her an opening to speak again. “I spilled garbage all over my bare feet, in front of The Most Beaut—in front of Fitz.”

“Aha, Fitz. You know his name now,” Daisy remarked, grinning triumphantly.

“And I cursed in front of him, and he felt compelled to pick up the garbage I had spilled with his bare hands and then I’m so bloody clumsy that I bend down as he stands up and now he feels terribly guilty because he thinks he broke my nose.”

Trip shook his head, as he grabbed some more clean gauze. “Swear to God, you’re the only woman who’d feel guilty ‘bout someone else accidentally breaking her nose.”

Jemma’s eyes widened in shock. “It’s really broken?”

“Nah,” Trip waved her off. “Sorry, that came out wrong.”

“Good Lord, Trip.” Jemma furrowed her brows scoldingly.

“Sorry.” Trip shrugged before getting back to work to stop the bleeding from Jemma’s nose.

Daisy crossed her arms in front of her chest. “Yeah, okay, maybe it doesn’t seem all that lucky to you, but, look where you are now!” She extended both arms to gesture around the apartment.

“Well, what good does that do me, though? I disrupted his night, and his roommate’s. I bled all over his shirt and his couch. He carried me two flights up.”

“He what?” Daisy’s eyes widened almost as wide as her grin. “Well, hello there, knight in shining armor!”

“Ugh, Daisy. Ouch!” Jemma flinched as Trip accidentally pressed too firmly against the most tender spot on her nose, clearly trying to stay out of the current conversation.

Daisy leaned a little closer, gesturing towards the closed kitchen door. “All I’m saying is, you’re in his apartment and if we play our cards right, you’ll get one heck of an opportunity to finally speak more than two words with him.”

“And how do you suppose we do that?” Jemma stared at her roommate questioningly, but secretly wishing Daisy would actually have a valid suggestion.

Daisy gently squeezed Trip’s shoulder, who looked up at her in surprise. She grinned mischievously at her boyfriend. “You’re gonna tell the two Brits in the kitchen that Jemma could have a concussion and you’d rather not move her and she should stay here overnight.”

Trip started laughing until he realized that his girlfriend was apparently serious. “You’re gonna be the death of me, woman!”

“You can’t possibly be serious, Daisy,” Jemma exclaimed.

“Hell yeah!” Daisy countered. “It’s fucking genius! You spend the night here. I’ll be sure to scare him into staying by your bedside and you two finally have an opportunity to talk… or do other stuff to your liking.”

“Do you even hear yourself?” Jemma asked in disbelief. “And what kind of roommate are you to suggest that I spend the night in somebody’s apartment whom I don’t know… at all. He could be a serial killer. Most Beautiful Man in the World or not.”

“Oh, come on!” Daisy rolled her eyes, gesturing over her shoulder with her thumb. “You think I didn’t run a background check on him the second this whole little crush of yours started? The guy’s cleaner than you are. And his roommate is… decent.”

Jemma drew in an exasperated breath. “You ran a background check on him?”

Daisy shrugged, grinning from ear to ear. “Being a cop does have its advantages at times.”

“Does that mean you knew his name all this time?” Jemma squinted furiously at her roommate.

“L. Fitz and L. Hunter. It’s right on their mailbox. Was pretty easy to figure out the rest from there. I didn’t exactly have to go full-on Sherlock here.”

“Mailboxes. Oh, why didn’t I—?” Jemma stopped herself, but it was too late; Daisy’s grin had already morphed from mischievous to triumphant.

“Well, now’s your chance, Jemma-Jim.”

Jemma wrinkled her forehead, and let out quiet groan. “I hate you.”

“I hate you too,” Daisy replied, shaping her lips into a little kissy face.

Trip looked back and forth between the two women before landing on Jemma. “So, you want me to—?”

Jemma slumped her shoulders in defeat. “Yes, please.”

* * *

“A concussion?” Hunter asked skeptically.

“Yep,” Trip confirmed.

Fitz ran one hand through his hair, turning his back on the group briefly, before looking with pleading eyes at Jemma.

_God, what have I done?_

He shook his head. “I’m so sorry. I’m really… I’m—”

A pained smile flashed across Jemma’s face and she almost looked like she wanted to say something, when Trip beat her to it.

“It’s mild, but—” Trip raised his hands reassuringly, his eyes darting in the direction of his girlfriend, whose lips twitched briefly. “But it would be good if she could rest without moving around too much.”

“Without moving around—?” Fitz repeated, staring full of confusion at the medical professional.

Trip cleared his throat, before nodding ever so slightly. “Yeah, I don’t wanna carry her upstairs. Would be best if she could just stay here overnight and then I’ll check on her again in the morning?”

Daisy’s finger darted authoritatively between Fitz and Hunter. “And I’m a cop. You two misfits try any funny business—”

Hunter looked from one person to the other like a nervous parrot. “Funny business? Stay here? Why in the—? What in the name of—?”

Fitz’s hand shot to the side and landed firmly against Hunter’s chest to stop him. “Yes. No. Yes. I… I mean, yes, she can stay here. And no, no funny business. Definitely no funny business.” He stretched both hands forward, palms up to where Jemma was lying on the couch, smiling shyly back at everyone else in the room. “She can stay right there. Right there all night.”

“You almost break her nose. Give her a concussion. And now you expect her to sleep on the couch?” Daisy stared at him furiously, making Fitz’s stomach churn. “Dude!”

“Daisy,” Jemma tried to chime in quietly, when she was interrupted by Hunter who was staring wide-eyed at Daisy, while his hand was pointed at Trip, who seemed very focussed on packing up his medical supplies.

“He said no moving her!”

“Well, I think there’s a difference between up two flights of stairs and one room over,” Daisy yelled back, and Hunter’s mouth shut tight.

Fitz raised his hand, taking one step towards the couch. “She can have my room. I’ll sleep on the couch. It’s fine. It’s fine,” he repeated looking straight at Hunter, trying to send him a silent message to stop the protest.

“Really, I don’t think that’s—” Jemma once again tried to speak up. This time it was her roommate that wouldn’t let her finish.

“Alright, progress.” Daisy crossed her hands in front of her chest. “But what if she passes out or something? Trip?”

“Hmm?” Trip looked up from his medical bag, his expression a bit deer-in-headlights.

Daisy ticked her head in Fitz’s direction. “Jemma’s gonna stay in his room and he says he’ll sleep on the couch, but what if she passes out at night? Isn’t that something that can happen with a concussion?”

Fitz’s eyes wandered back and forth between the cop and the EMT. There was something mildly strange about the way Daisy spoke, but then the entire evening had been one strange occurrence after another.

Trip straightened up, rubbing his hands on his thighs. “Oh, yeah, yeah, right. She’s right. Would be good if someone could… ummm… keep an eye on her at night. Maybe stay with her.”

Fitz stared at Hunter, who was standing wide-eyed with his mouth half ajar next to him. Then he looked at Jemma, who seemed focussed on carefully examining her nose.

Fitz swallowed and shrugged. “Well, I can do that. It’s the least I can do.”

His eyes once again fell on Jemma, who was looking back up, the corners of her mouth briefly ticking into a shy smile.

“Great,” Daisy exclaimed, slapping Fitz on his back so forcefully that he took half a step forward. “Let’s get back to bed, Trip.”

Trip grabbed his bag as if he were in a sudden rush, and the two of them walked towards the front door.

“Just remember.” With one hand on the handle, Daisy turned back around, pointing first at Hunter and Fitz before switching directions to point at herself and then back at them. “Me. Cop. You. No funny business.”

Fitz and Hunter nodded and both let out a sigh of relief when the door closed behind the intimidating young woman.

Fitz turned back to look at Jemma, forcing a smile while his heart beat frantically in his chest. “So… umm.” He gestured over his shoulder. “Should I carry you, or… or do you think you can walk?”

“Oh, I think I can—” Jemma began, getting halfway up from the couch, when Fitz stepped forward and curled one arm around her back and the other behind her knees. He was really quite proud that only a very quiet strained “Ugh!” escaped his lips, and it was probably drowned out by the surprised “Oh!” Jemma let out, before her arms wrapped around Fitz’s neck.

“I suppose carry is fine,” she muttered a bit breathlessly, and Fitz couldn’t help but grin contentedly.

* * *

Jemma stared at the whitish trapeze strip the light shining in through a gap in the curtains projected onto the ceiling.

She still couldn’t quite believe it. She was in his flat. In his room. In his bed. Lying stiffly right next to him, trying not to feel too guilty about the little white lie—oh, who was she kidding, the big, gigantic, unbelievable lie they’d dished out to two rather polite and unsuspecting—

Jemma shifted slightly, working up the courage to speak up and tell him the truth, when she noticed him tucking one arm under his head. He cleared his throat and Jemma’s muscles tensed instantaneously.

“So, umm,” he muttered quietly, and for whatever reason, Jemma tried not to breathe. “I know it’s late and you have a concussion and you probably need to rest, but… but if I don’t ask now, I never will.”

Jemma swallowed, her heart was beating quite rapidly by now and she felt a bit dizzy. Maybe she really did have a concussion. Two hits to the head in one day might do that.

“Yes?” she whispered.

“How’d you get the black eye?”

“Oh.” Jemma was glad it was presumably too dark for him to notice the disappointment in her eyes. “The maintenance man at my lab is quite tall. A good two heads taller than me probably. And, well, he was working on something in the hallway, and I didn’t see him and so I walked into his elbow.”

Jemma turned her head in surprise when she heard a quiet snort.

“What?” she asked indignantly.

Fitz looked at her, and Jemma tried not to sigh loudly at the way his eyes sparkled in the dark.

“I’m sorry,” Fitz apologized. “It’s just… you said he’s some sort of giant and… and you didn’t see him. It’s… I don’t know… it’s—”

Jemma clenched her jaw. _Funny. Of course. It was funny. Ridiculous really. Hilarious. Unbelievably—_

“Well, I’m… I’m sometimes a bit in my own world when I’m focused.” Jemma didn’t mean to sound quite so defensive, but her ego had been hurt in more ways than one today.

His eyes widened. “No. I… I didn’t mean to. It… I think it’s… that’s actually quite—”. He stopped, turning his head to stare at the ceiling and clearing his throat. “It’s just not at all what I imagined had happened, that’s all.”

“You imagined what happened?” A smile flashed across Jemma’s face as she studied his in the dark, wishing she could tell if he was blushing. When he didn’t reply, Jemma took heart. The whole point of this ridiculous setup Daisy had cooked up was to be able to start a conversation.

Jemma rolled onto her side, resting her head on her arm. “So what did you imagine had happened?”

Fitz looked back at her and there was a nervousness in his eyes that got Jemma strangely excited. “You know. I thought maybe you were a ninja.”

Jemma chuckled quietly. “Apparently not a very good one.”

His lips pulled into a wide grin. “Or you know, maybe a professional ping pong player.”

This time Jemma couldn’t help but laugh out a little louder. “Again, apparently not a very good one.”

Fitz rolled onto his side, absentmindedly picking on some pilling on his pillow case.

“You didn’t think I was mugged or something like that?” Jemma asked curiously.

Fitz shrugged. “‘Course that was a possibility, but I figured whoever was stupid enough to mug you drew the short end of the straw.”

Jemma smiled widely. “You seem awfully confident in my abilities to defend myself.”

One corner of his mouth ticked up rather adorably and his voice seemed even more quiet and soft when he spoke up. “Dunno. Just something about you.”

Jemma swallowed, not quite sure how to respond. Once again, the thumping of her heart drowned out any other noise in the room, and the longer he held her gaze, the louder her heart became.

She pursed her lips in disappointment when Fitz rolled back onto his back, and mimicked his actions, figuring that this would be the end of their conversation.

_It was pretty late after all. Going on 3am now._

Her lips almost reflexively twitched into the hint of a smile when he suddenly spoke up again.

“You know, I’m really sorry for what happened tonight.”

“Well, it was clearly an acci—” Jemma started when she heard his quiet “But—”

She closed her mouth, staring with anticipation at the ceiling above, not daring to breathe or move or even blink.

“But at least it’s given me a chance to finally say more than two words to you.”

Jemma couldn’t stop her lips from pulling wider and wider until her cheeks hurt.

“You’ve been meaning to say more than two words to me?” she asked, her voice laced with hope.

“Mhm,” he mumbled quietly next to her, and when Jemma turned to look at him, his blue eyes were gazing back at her, and Jemma felt her stomach flutter with excitement.

* * *

“What were you going to say to me?”

Her voice was so soft and raspy and incredibly sexy and it did all kinds of things to the blood in Fitz’s body that he tried very hard to ignore.

He cleared his throat, his eyes now wandering aimlessly from her to the ceiling and back. The light shone in through the gap in the curtains and it was almost like a halo around her face.

_Really, it wasn’t fair how incredibly amazing this woman was. How was a bloke supposed to stand a chance against the perfect combination of a brilliant mind and incredible beauty?_

Fitz adjusted his head on his arm, drawing in a slow breath to calm himself. The darkness of the room had helped his tongue to at least loosen a little and he’d felt far less like a moron in the past few minutes than he’d felt earlier. “You know. Things like ‘Is that Indian place around the corner any good?’”

“Ugh.” It almost sounded like she’d gagged. “I’d stay away from that place unless you enjoy spending two days with your head in the toilet bowl.”

“Oh,” Fitz mumbled in disappointment, pressing his lips into a thin line. Not exactly where he’d hoped that would go.

“But there’s a lovely Indian place three blocks down. Charming atmosphere. Reasonable prices. And the food is very authentic and delicious.”

Fitz’s head shot around and he stared for a moment at her silhouette. Her eyes were fixed on the ceiling, but he could see a smile playing on her lips.

“Really?” he asked.

Her eyes briefly peeked in his direction and he couldn’t help but notice the mesmerizing sparkle in her irises. “Really,” she replied, barely above a whisper.

Fitz cleared his throat for what felt like the hundredth time that evening. He lifted his arm, tentatively waving his hand between their two bodies. “Maybe… maybe we could go there together some time?”

Her smile was blinding despite the darkness of the room. “That sounds quite lovely.”

Fitz let out a sigh of relief. “‘t does, doesn’t it?”

“Mhm,” Jemma hummed contentedly. “Maybe then you can talk nerdy to me.”

Fitz’s eyes widened and his muscles tensed at her implication. He swallowed, trying to come up with something clever to say in return, but his mind drew a complete blank.

He barely managed to mumble, “Good night, Jemma.”

* * *

* * *

Fitz couldn’t help the moan that escaped the back of his throat as Jemma somehow pulled his face even closer, her tongue—as usual—doing an incredible job of exploring the inside of his mouth. He let his hand slide down her side and disappear below her jumper, marvelling once again at how soft her skin felt beneath his fingertips. She bucked her hips, wrapping her leg around his bum and pulling his crotch against hers.

 _Please, God, don’t let us fall off the couch… again_ , a quiet voice mumbled in the back of Fitz’s mind, before he allowed his hand to explore a little higher while his hips ground forward a bit more. He savored the contented humming that came from Jemma’s lips at his movement. Admittedly, since they’d started dating three weeks ago, the number of random freak accidents had declined considerably, but—

Startled by a loud bang, Fitz jerked up, somehow managing to bang his forehead against Jemma’s as they both scuttled apart like teenagers caught in a compromising position… which admittedly, wasn’t too far from the truth (age aside).

“Bloody hell!” Fitz muttered quietly, rubbing his forehead and looking at his girlfriend, who had her hand pressed against her head as well, but was staring past him with wide eyes.

Fitz turned his head, and suddenly scooted backwards on the couch with his hands extended as if he had to protect Jemma from some kind of raging animal.

“Jesus Christ, Hunter!” he exclaimed, hoping it was loud enough to cut through the fog Hunter’s snog fest was likely creating in his roommate’s miniature brain as he pinned a woman with long wavy hair against the wall right next to the entrance door ( _which was still wide open, mind you_ ).

Hunter darted backwards as if the woman in front of him had suddenly caught fire, staring at Fitz in surprise before gesturing vaguely in Fitz’s and Jemma’s direction. “Oh, you’re home.”

Fitz slowly rose from his seat, his eyes fixed on the woman Hunter had brought home, who was tucking her hair behind her ear, before wiping her thumb across her bottom lip.

“Hey Fitz, good to see you again,” Bobbi said cheerily.

Fitz took a cautious step forward, gesturing at Hunter’s ex-wife while staring at his roommate. “Again?”

“Hey now. Is that how you greet an old friend?” Bobbi smiled at him, her eyes sparkling mischievously, and Fitz couldn’t help but relax his shoulders and pull his friend into a tight hug.

“Sorry, Bob. Good to see you,” Fitz replied, before ticking his head in Hunter’s direction. “Again,” he added pointedly.

Hunter lifted his shoulders to his ears. “What can I say? Third time’s the charm!”

“How did this even—?” Fitz shook his head, waving his hand back and forth between Hunter and Bobbi, still in disbelief.

Bobbi shrugged ever so slightly, pursing her lips. “Ya know. Run into each other at our favorite bistro. Talk without yelling for once—”

“You mean he didn’t yell for once,” Fitz interjected, one corner of his mouth ticked up into a teasing grin.

“Something like that,” Bobbi confirmed, while Hunter protested unsuccessfully in the background.

“And then one thing led to another,” Bobbi concluded. “Just can’t resist the guy.”

Fitz scoffed knowingly, his eyes wandering briefly from Bobbi to Hunter and back. “Well, try to make it stick this time. It’s always the kids that suffer most under a divorce, you know?” He gestured at himself with both thumbs.

“Awww.” Bobbi pressed her palm against Fitz’s cheek. “We’ll do our best, honeybun.”

They both started laughing and Hunter walked closer, wrapping one arm around Bobbi’s waist.

“But enough about us.” Bobbi bumped Hunter’s hip with her own, before lifting her chin in the direction of the couch, while keeping her eyes fixed on Fitz. “Are you going to introduce me or not?”

Fitz swallowed hard, his head shooting to where Jemma was sitting on the couch, smiling shyly and mildly confused at the remaining people in the room.

“Umm,” Fitz stammered, running one hand through his hair as he noticed in embarrassment that he’d somehow forgotten about his girlfriend. He took a few steps backwards, almost stumbling over the edge of the living room rug as his hands gestured in a somewhat uncoordinated way in Jemma’s direction. “This… That’s… This is Jemma.”

He finally came to a halfway graceful stop next to his girlfriend, placing his hand on her shoulder. He looked down at her and she looked up at him and the smile he was met with made his heart melt all over again.

“Nice to meet you, Jemma.”

Somehow, Bobbi had managed to stealthily sneak closer, her hand now expectantly stretched out.

Jemma got up, beaming at Hunter’s former ex-wife and taking Bobbi’s hand firmly into her own. “Lovely to meet you as well. The hellbeast, I assume.”

Bobbi laughed out loud and Fitz couldn’t stop the snort escaping his closed lips, while Hunter’s eyes widened in shock, his hands beginning to gesture wildly.

“I never—” Hunter squeaked in a high-pitched tone that Fitz assumed would draw all dogs in the neighborhood closer.

Bobbi gently patted him on the shoulder, her eyes sparkling teasingly. “No, of course you’d never.”

She looked back at Jemma, her lips pulled into a wide smile. “I already like you.”

Jemma scrunched her nose in that adorable proud way that always made Fitz’s stomach flutter.

“So—” Bobbi walked past Fitz and Jemma, causing both to turn in the direction she was going. She sat down on the sofa, crossing one leg over the other and laying one arm on the backrest of the couch. “—where’d you meet?”

“She lives—” Fitz started, pointing to the ceiling, while Jemma finished, “—in the same building.”

However, their explanation seemingly went unnoticed, as Hunter simultaneously announced, “He gave her a concussion and almost broke her nose.”

**Author's Note:**

> You can assume that Jemma eventually came clean to Fitz about the concussion that was none. He stared at her wide-eyed for a while and then shrugged, because well, he couldn't really complain about the outcome.


End file.
